


Palm Readings and You

by soyforramen



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale - Fandom
Genre: Body Swap, F/M, Halloween prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-11 03:39:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soyforramen/pseuds/soyforramen
Summary: Fall AU - In a world where Jason never died and Riverdale never fell into chaos, Jughead and Betty come across a palm-reading who will change their perspectives on life and bring them closer than they ever were before, or ever wanted to be.





	Palm Readings and You

Jughead was irritated and out of place once more. Only this time it wasn’t at school. No, today he was irritable at Riverdale’s traditional Fall Faire, a place full of screaming school children, carts filled with aromatic foods he couldn’t afford, and rides guaranteed to make a PI lawyer salivate. With his dark clothes and scowl he was the rain on the otherwise brightly colored parade around him.

Archie elbowed him, dropping kettle corn on the ground. “Cheer up, Jug. At least we’re not in math.”

Reggie ran through them, almost knocking Jughead down, as he and Moose threw around a stuffed Tweety bird the football players had collectively won for Midge. (They’d been trying for a stuffed animal for their own girlfriends, but Moose being Moose had gotten his way in the end.)

“I’d rather be in math than here,” Jughead muttered. He grabbed a handful of kettle corn from Archie, saving it from it’s miserable fate on the leaf littered ground. “At least there I can get a nap in.”

“Hey boys,” Veronica called to them from the booth they were passing. Archie’s head whipped around, a goofy grin on his face at the sound of her voice.

“Down boy, the succubus isn’t going anywhere,” Jughead said. 

Archie ignored him and went to Veronica, a moth to the proverbial flame. Having nothing better to do, Jughead followed Archie over to the construction paper covered booth. The sign on top proclaimed ‘Kissing Booth: Help send the Vixens to Finals!’. Crude cut outs were strewn across the booth. Jughead figured they were supposed to be lips, but to him they looked like slugs locked in a battle to the death. Then again, that’s also what he imagined kissing to be like.

Veronica perched on a stool behind the booth, dressed in orange and brown plaids for the season. She grinned at him, a new little grin she’d perfected in the Hampton’s over the summer. It screamed ‘I don’t care enough to tell anyone all your secrets, but we both know that I know them.’ “Care to buy a kiss, Juggie? Or would you rather wait until Betty comes along for the second shift?”

Archie’s brows furrowed as he glanced between Veronica and Jughead. “You and Betty are -

“There is no Betty and I,” Jughead said flatly. In lieu of blushing (a Jones was never soft enough to blush) he glared at the dark-haired vixen. 

Veronica’s grin slipped into a sly smile. “C’mon Juggie, I’ve seen the way you look at her. Isn’t there something nice you can say about her?”

He narrowed his eyes and glanced behind him to make sure the blonde in question wasn’t walking up behind him. One didn’t hover around Veronica Lodge’s inner circle without becoming wise to her machinations. “There’s lots of nice things I could say about Betty. And Archie and Ethel and Toni. And there’s lots of things I could say about you.”

Veronica’s smile settled back into her usual Cheshire smile. “You flatter me,” she shot back with a flutter of her eyelashes. “Now, Archie, about that kiss?” Archie smoothed his hair and tugged at his jacket. “One ticket, one kiss,” she reminded him.

Archie held out a ticket and Veronica slipped it somewhere under the counter. She presented her cheek, and Archie gave it a quick peck.

“Aren’t you supposed to kiss him?” Jughead asked.

“If that’s the way it worked we’d all get mono, Creature from the Bowels of Hot Topic,” Cheryl said as she came to take her turn at the kissing booth. “Now shoo, you’re in the way of paying customers.”

Jughead looked around and found no one else near the booth. He was tempted to stand around to irritate Cheryl further, but it was soon apparent that the Kissing Booth would quickly become the Cat Fight booth if Cheryl kept asking Archie if he’d like a kiss on the house. He saw the dark look in Veronica’s eye and knew from experience it was best to let his old pal Archie figure out his own female troubles.

As Jughead walked away, his eyes landed on a bright orange ticket laying on the dirt in front of him. He picked it up and looked around. The closest Faire attendee was over at the duck fishing pond, and no one appeared to be looking for a spare ticket. His civic duty attempted, Jughead curled his fingers around the ticket. The last time he’d had a ticket at the Fall Faire was in elementary school, when life was happier and simpler. 

Jughead shook that thought off. After all, it was a faire to celebrate the bounty of the harvest, a time to eat, drink, and be merry. With this ticket he’d be able to accomplish one of those things. He spent the next ten minutes wandering through the booths as he tried to decide what he wanted to spend his one ticket on. The smell of kettle corn was tempting, but he’d already eaten most of Archie’s and he had a taste for something different. Something sweeter.

He wandered through the fairgrounds, watching people mill about in groups and making mental notes about how they moved and spoke on the off chance he might remember the next time he was struck by the writing bug. If he was ever struck by the writing bug again.

It wasn’t until he spotted the caramel apple stand tucked away on the edge of the festivities that he knew what the ticket was meant for. The gloomy fall clouds above him opened to allow a bit of sunshine to fall on the apple stand. The bright reds and browns of the sign were a neon sign to his hungry stomach. Drawn like a jock to a cheerleader, a nerd to Gryphons & Gargoyles, Jughead made a beeline towards the stand. As he drew closer he could make out a dancing apple, eerily happy despite the large bite that had been taken out of it. The words ‘1 Apple = 1 Ticket were written on the side. A happy coincidence indeed.

The fate of his ticket, though, wasn’t so easily sorted. As he passed by the line of booths, a voice called out to him, crooked with age and rough with experience.

“Palm reading. Know your true self.”

Jughead barely spared a glance at the old woman and her threadbare tent. But that small gesture proved to be his undoing. He’d broken the number one rule of all fairs and carnivals: never make eye contact with people trying to take your hard-earned money. 

“You there. Boy with the hat. You look like you need some guidance in this world.” 

He stopped and squinted to get a good a good look at the woman standing in the tent’s shadow. She was an old crone, or dressed as one, complete with the crooked back and wonky eye. He’d always held a healthy suspicion of adults, particularly of those who sold the type of things no one really needed, and this woman was the most suspicious on the fairgrounds. The woman squinted back, waiting for his response. There was an unspoken social contract to these types of things. Once you’d acknowledged someone’s existence there was an expectation that you’d respond. It was a social contract Jughead despised, and it was the one he most often broke.

So instead of responding, he continued his trek towards the apple booth, his mouth already salivating at the memory of the sharp crispness of the apple mixing with the sticky sweet caramel. His back teeth were sticking together in anticipation as he stepped in line.

“They say to write what you know, but if you don’t know yourself, what can you write?” The old woman’s voice held a note of amusement. 

His stomach told him the old women was only trying to get one more ticket, one more payout. His inner voice, the one Toni called his super-ego, was intrigued by her promises. He’d been stuck on his novel for weeks, chasing down red-herrings into dead-ends of his own creation. The investigation by the noir detective Monica Posh had long since fizzled into nothing more than another tragic accident. At this rate, the murder of the town’s Golden Boy would never be solved.

For what might be the first time in his life, Jughead listened to something other than his stomach. It was an event that Fangs might even label ‘Growth’. Only Fangs would make sure it was accompanied by at least three memes and four gifs. 

Against his own nature, Jughead walked to the front of the tent. In the coming days, he’d wonder why he’d ever gone over to the old woman. He didn’t recall leaving the line, didn’t recall walking towards the woman. It was almost as if some supernatural draw had pulled him to this place and to this woman. 

“I don’t believe in this kind of thing,” Jughead said.

The woman laughed. “You’d be surprised how many people tell me that. Come, come.” She beckoned him inside with a finger crooked with arthritis.

Jughead followed her inside and found it just as bare as the outside. The only light came from a weak Coleman lantern set on the corner of a table. A faint smell of lavender hung in the air. Jughead took a seat at the card table, the woman already seated on the side. They sat there, looking at one another, until the woman barked, “Hand.”

Too startled to do anything else, Jughead put his hand on the table. The woman took his hand and peered at it. Her face came close enough to his hand he could have reached out and touched her cheek.

“Mmm,” the woman intoned. 

Jughead quashed his desire to crane his neck to look at his own hand. He’d had it since birth and it was a pretty good hand, even if the fingers were long enough to get caught in the occasional door. The old woman seemed to disagree.

“You are independent. You follow your brain and ignore all matters of the heart,” she said. The woman clicked her tongue. “Too independent, it seems. You are suspicious of everyone around you, and that makes you miss everything important in life.”

The way she said it reminded Jughead of his father haggling over ‘used’ parts at Mustang’s auto shop. ‘Never buy at a mark-up,’ his father would tell them on the way over. ‘If you hem and haw a little, if you make them feel like their parts are inferior, that’s how you get a deal.’ At this moment, Jughead felt as if he were a mostly-new carburetor with all of it’s dents and dings on display.

“Your love life,” the old woman croaked, “is very sad. Tragic!”

This was what he’d spent a ticket for? Commentary he received every day, entirely unsolicited, from Reggie Mantle? The only ticket he had, the ticket that could have gotten him a candied apple, sure to last at least until they had to board the buses home. And he’s wasted it on this?

“I want a refund,” he said in a flat tone.

The old woman looked up at him, and in the same flat tone, said “No refunds.” She pointed over his shoulder and he turned to find a sign above the tent flap that said in bright red letters, “No Refunds, No Exceptions.” She yanked his hand closer and peered at it in the dim light.

“You live in your head. That’s what this line here means.” She jabbed at the line under his fingers and he winced. “Live in the moment. Learn to listen with your heart, boy.”

“And if I don’t?” he challenged.

The woman threw up her hands. “Fine. Be a miserable old man by the time you're twenty-three. But don’t come complaining to me when things drastically change for you.”

Jughead stared at her. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me how to avoid that? That next week the stars will align and things will look up if I only I wear pink?”

“I’m not a fortune cookie. I read palms. Palms only show me who you are. What you were raised to be.”

He scoffed, disappointed with her response. He knew he was acting the petulant child, refused a toy he didn’t want in the first place only to throw a fit when it was taken away.

“Fine. Thanks, I guess,” he muttered. He stood and walked out of the tent. It wasn’t until he’d rounded the corner that he realized the woman had never asked for his ticket. In a surge of happiness, he checked his jacket pocket where he’d put it for safe-keeping. He came up empty. Checking all the other pockets, he came up empty again.

With a scowl, he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and stalked off to find Archie. 

On the other side of the fair, Betty just finished her turn at the kissing both. Today had been a big blow to her ego, especially when she saw how many tickets Veronica and Cheryl had received.

“At least you didn’t have to kiss Creepy Chris,” Toni said in her own attempt at consolation.

Betty stared at the toes of her shoes. “I hid behind the booth every time he came by.

Toni stored and sat on the stool to take her turn. “I wouldn’t worry about it. The only reason Cheryl and Veronica got any tickets is because they’re the biggest flirts in school and bullied every boy into stopping by.”

Betty knew this was true, but it didn’t help the sting of knowing that once again she was in second place. She glanced to where Archie stood, Veronica on one arm, Cheryl on the other. Both vied for his attention between preening and sniping at each other. 

Toni put a hand on Betty’s arm. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.

Her smile was pained and pitiful. Betty was used to that kind of pity. After all, Betty had pined for Archie for years, always desperate to catch a minute of his time. When they were younger, it was a game to see if she could finally pull Archie’s attention away from the other girls in town. But as they grew up, and Betty grew into real feelings for him, she didn’t want to play the game any longer. She wanted to be the only one.

So she left Archie to the girls who weren’t so careless with their hearts, the girls who knew how to be a hear tbreaker. And Betty tried to move on.

“I don’t know if it helps any, but I don’t think either of them want him.” She leaned on her arms and openly watched the pair bicker.

“Oh? Why’s that?”

Toni pointed to Cheryl, then to Veronica. “See how all their attention is focused on each other? The only time they focus on Archie is when the other one has lost interest. They’ve been like this all the time I’ve known them.”

It was only a year ago that Southside High had closed and reintegrated with Riverdale, bringing with it Toni and Fangs and Jughead, but Toni was right. She had always been an avid people watcher, able to draw information about a person after two minutes that Betty hadn’t been able to figure out in a lifetime. 

Betty watched her best friend and cousin snap at each other through a different lens. Their bodies were facing each other, not Archie, and they didn’t allow the poor boy to get more than a few words in.

“Maybe they should talk about it?” she said thoughtfully.

Toni snorted. “They’re both so in denial I doubt they’d let you get two words out.” Realizing Betty was content to stand around, Toni gave her a gentle push. “Go on, enjoy the rest of the fair. I think I can hold down the fort for the next hour.”

“Thanks, Toni. Hope you have better luck than I did,” Betty said with a genuine smile.

Toni winked. “I do have the advantage. You only wanted to play with half the potential customers.” She slipped a hand into the mason jar Ginger had brought for the tickets and pulled out three. “Go have fun for me.”

“I can’t take those.” Betty shook her head and back up. “They’re for -”

Toni grabbed her wrist and put the tickets in her hand. “For the new uniforms Cheryl’s been salivating over all year. We both know the Vixens will never make it to finals. Think of it as hazard pay for having to kiss so many frogs. And for staying up all night to make this booth happen.”

She hadn’t stayed up all night. But Toni had a point. Betty had been the only one to show up yesterday, and she’d spent hours cutting out the letters and lips. And it wasn’t her fault her mother refused to send her with any money for the fair. (It was a surprise Alice had even left her go after hearing that the Vixens were doing a kissing booth as a fundraiser.)

The kettle corn did look really good. And if she still felt bad about it later she could always pay the cost of the tickets at the next fundraiser.

“Thanks, Toni.” Betty placed the tickets in the front pocket of her purse.

“Bring me back some funnel cake, Cooper,” Toni said as Betty walked away.

Having the tickets was a minor thrill, a small rebellion against the iron-grip of societal expectations her mother had hammered into her head growing up. This was the sort of thing that would keep her up at night, that would wind her stomach into a Gordian knot not even Alka Seltzer could cure. But she was hungry and the idea of funnel cake smelled too good to pass up. 

With her step lightened by her reasoning, Betty wandered through the Faire. Most people, if asked, would say Betty Cooper was a spring girl, the kind who loved the budding flowers and baby animals, the promises of a new beginning wrapped in May showers. But those who knew her, knew that she had always been a fall girl. There was something about the cooler air, the cozy sweaters, the hot chocolate. Her day was brightened by carved pumpkins and changing leaves. It made her feel alive to be surrounded by so much color and activity. Fall meant the return of school and her friends, the return of football games and pep rallies, the return of another year in Riverdale.

“Such a beautiful smile,” a woman’s voice said to her right. “I’m sure your palm is just as lovely.”

Confused, Betty turned to find a young woman with chestnut curls and deep grey eyes smiling at her. “Palm reading. Only one ticket,” the woman told her.

Betty paused. It had always been something she’d want to try, along with tarot readings and crystal balls. It was the type of thing her mother always warned her about. Snake-oil salesmen and con-men who made their money by preying on people’s insecurities. Rationally Betty knew it only meant what you wanted it to mean, but the idea of doing something her mother would hate intrigued her, so Betty followed the palm reader into the tent.

Inside, the walls were draped with thick maroon cloth trimmed with gold. The decor matched the palm reader’s outfit. Fairy lights illuminated the tent, and a diffuser in the corner threw the comforting scent of lavender into the air. 

The palm reader held out her hand to one of the cushions littering the ground, and Betty choose a deep purple pillow. She held out her hand and the woman took it.

“Do you see this line here?” the palm reader asked after a few minutes. “Do you see how long it is?”

Betty peered at her hand and nodded. It ran the width of her hand. “Does that mean something?”

“You overthink. And this line here, where that breaks? It means you put others’ needs in front of your own. You should learn how to say no every now and then.”

The woman hummed, and Betty sat up a bit straighter. She craned her neck, trying to figure out what it was that had caught the woman’s eye. “What? What is it?”

“Here.” The palm reader pointed to a gap in one of the lines that crossed Betty’s palm. “It is very odd. Do you see how it jumps? How the lines break between your second and first finger? That means that an important love has passed through your life, from childhood until now. That break means that the love has left your life. It is not longer the center of it. But,” the woman peered closer. There was a dramatic pause that that pulled a shiver of tension down Betty’s spine. “Here. Something important will happen to you, much sooner than you think. Something life changing.”

Betty took in a deep breath. The woman probably told every client the same thing, but to Betty it felt real. She’d been waiting for important and life-changing for a while. “Do you have any advice for when it happens?”

The woman smiled. “Think with your heart. Don’t let your anxiety and fear get the better of you. And put yourself first.”

Betty thanked her and handed over the ticket. A grin stretched her face as she walked out into the cool fall air. When she turned around to get her bearings, the tent was dark and the woman was nowhere to be found. \ As odd as that was, Riverdale had long since been a place of oddity, and the encounter didn’t sound out too her. 

With the other two tickets, Betty bought two funnel cakes and returned to the booth to keep Toni company.

To both Betty and Jughead, the palm reading was nothing more than a carnival game, another sentence in the novel of their lives. Nothing was amiss that day, nothing had changed. They both went to sleep in their respective beds, the fair already forgotten.


End file.
